Helpless
by Talking Hawk
Summary: An AU fic of if Sam was twenty-six years younger than he was at the beginning of the Quest (so he's only ten..). No slash.


Helpless

By Talking Hawk

Author's Note: I'll be blunt – this isn't a slash (and there isn't anything "wrong" with their relationship, either…), the religious aspect of this is not meant to offend anyone, and I'm not a manic depressant.  So there. (tries not to snort, but fails miserably) =) This fic's in Sam's POV, just so you know.  I tried to write it in the way I think Sam would narrate it if he was actually telling this story.  Enjoy…  (Oh, and the poem's mine!  Yep-yep…)

I still can't believe it…  Every time I think about it, my blood runs cold, freezing like water does at winter's first hinting.  I inhale deeply, hoping that enough breath gets into me to keep my heart beating, but then I shudder.  There wasn't anymore denying it…

Mr. Frodo was dead.

*           *           *

I remember a couple of years ago, I was hanging about Bag End, a-waiting for me Gaffer to get done with the day's gardening.  Mum had sent me to bring him to supper, but he kept on saying, "Just give me five more minutes, boy…  Gotta get the job done…"

'Twas fine by me.  I was glad for the excuse to walk about Bag End.  I suppose I shouldn't have, but I strolled about the rooms, examining every fine aspect of the Baggins' smial.  'Twas quite a grand sight for my young eyes.

A voice interrupted my snooping.  "Sam?  Is that you?"

I gulped.  "Y-yes, sir.  Didn't mean to go nosin' about…"

A laugh.  "It is all right.  Why don't you come into the living room?"

I complied, and found Mr. Frodo sitting in front of his desk.  There were some papers on it, and I suppose he had been working on them, but at the moment, he was turned to face me.  A smile was on his face.  "You're growing up to be quite a gentlehobbit, Sam."  I blinked, and inched forward while he chuckled heartily.  "I think you've grown half a foot since I last saw you!"

I couldn't help but laugh, even if it was being disrespectful to my elder.  "You saw me yesterday, Mr. Frodo!"

"Oh, really?"  He grinned and slapped his forehead, feigning at being disappointed in himself.  "Then you're really quite growing, now aren't you?  Can't even stay short enough for old hobbits like me to keep up!"  I laughed again, and bounced into his lap.  A few months earlier, I wouldn't have attempted such a thing – jumping into my betters' laps, but Mr. Frodo never seemed to be offended by it.

"Yer not old!" I argued as he encircled his arms about me.  My head on his shoulder, I began running my finger over his top collar button.  He smiled and patted my back good-humoredly, amused.

"Older than any potential lady-friends would prefer, no doubt," he joked, and I shook my head.

"Nah," I said.  "They don't mind it one bit.  Why, 'twas just the other day that me elder sisters Daisy and May were fancin' over ya…"  My eyes widened, and I froze.  I hadn't realized what I had said until the words had already escaped.  Panicked, I lifted my head to see how Mr. Frodo reacted to this.

He was looking straight ahead, his eyes large circles of blue, and a bit of pink in his cheeks.  I frowned, not meaning to have embarrassed him.  "I'm sorry…" I whispered guiltily, hanging my head.

He turned his eyes to me, now with a slight sparkle on them.  He smiled, and pressed my head to his shoulder, rocking me a bit.  "'Tis all right.  It's just…I never thought…"  Mr. Frodo laughed, and his chest shook as he did so.

I went back to playing with his button, making as though I was only half-listening.  I did not want him to know that I hung onto his every word, and stuck them in my pocket before they had a chance to escape.  Everything he said stayed with me, as I figured he always would.

He chuckled again, patting my back.  Looking down at me, he said, "Just never thought the lasses liked me – that's all."

I looked up at him shyly, my finger still touching his smooth, clear button.  "Perhaps…"  I lowered my eyes once more, and just before I did so, I caught a glance of him lifting an eyebrow.  "Perhaps you could find yerself a lady friend someday – not anytime soon, mind you, and…maybe…  Well, I don't want you a-fearin' nothin', Mr. Frodo, but I kind of had my heart set on your kids bein' my friends."

A long stretch of silence followed, and it took me awhile to get enough courage to look at him again.  When I finally did, I saw that he was smiling down at me.

"Maybe, Sam…"  He looked away thoughtfully, absently patting my back once more.  "Ya never know, I suppose…"

*           *           *

His casket was right there before my two eyes, but I still shook my head.  It wasn't him.  It couldn't be him…

Mr. Frodo couldn't die.

            Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry had been the ones to bring him back.  They said the three of them had been off on some quest or something or other, told by the wizard Mr. Gandalf to destroy some ring Mr. Frodo had been given by his uncle.  It sounded preposterous until they showed the body…

            They said they had been traveling along with a very odd group, indeed – two men, an elf, a dwarf, and Mr. Gandalf.  Something had happened to Mr. Gandalf – what, I am not precisely sure, for every time Mr. Merry tries to explain, he stops upon seeing Mr. Pippin getting all teary-eyed.

            One day, according to the misters, they were camping next to this river when they were attacked by "orcs" – what exactly they were, I wasn't quite sure either.  But from what Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry were saying, they must've been right awful.  The "orcs" attacked them, and though they were able to escape, Mr. Frodo separated himself from the group and went across the river.

            He didn't want anyone to go with him…

Some people blame old Mr. Bilbo for it, though he isn't around no more.  They say, "Why, if dear Frodo hadn't been raised by the likes of him, he wouldn't have been such a hermit, tryin' to go off on his own, most likely!  Just like his old second-cousin, no doubt."

            How could anyone respond to that?

            Though they weren't sure exactly what happened, they said that Mr. Frodo rowed himself across the river – the Anduin, I think they called it, and went a-marchin' on his own.  Mr. Pippin said that he, Mr. Frodo, hadn't wanted anyone else to get hurt for his sake…

            Oh, Mr. Frodo, you hadn't known what you were doin'.  You hurt so many more people than you would've otherwise, goin' off on yer own like that…

            The group had followed him, taking the other boats across the river.  B…but when they found him…'twas too late.

            They found him on the soils of Mordor, some awful place they don't much like to speak of.  Nothin' grew there – it was just earth, and darkness, and evil.  They…they found him on the ground, sprawled out and all.  They found him uninjured, but do you want to know what he died of…?

            …Hunger.  Pure hunger.

            It still boils my blood.  If I had been with him, he wouldn't have died of hunger!  I would've cooked for him, or find him something, or given him my food, or, or…SOMEthing!

            They took his body, and Pippin took the cursed ring.  Not that I care much, but a couple of hours later, he threw it into some place called "Mt. Doom."  What did it matter, anyhow?  Blast the stupid ring.  Blast the stupid "quest."

It killed my Mr. Frodo.

*           *           *

'Twas about a full year ago that I decided to wake up early one mornin'.  Even though I was nine at the time, my heart was already set upon gardenin', and doing it well, mind you.  The Gaffer had put me in charge of weed-pullin' at Bag End, and my mind was bent upon doing it.  I hadn't slept a wink all night, restlessly turning over, waiting for the sun to beckon me outside.  I grew impatient.

            Finally, I yielded to the garden's call.  I rolled out of bed, and careful not to wake up me brothers, I quietly dressed meself in my working clothes.  After doing this, I tip-toed outside and soundlessly closed the door behind me.

            Hobbiton was very quiet at this time in the morning, and was still a bit dark.  In about an hour's time, I figured, the sun would greet the day and awaken the town.  I grinned, seeing that I had a head start, and would have a better chance to get down everything that I thought needed to be.

            I made my way up the dirt road, knowing that Mr. Frodo's smial was only down the street.  I would have to be careful not to wake him, I reminded myself.

            The dawn came faster than I had at first expected.  Though the sun was not yet visible, the horizon was beginning to turn a bit orange.  I glanced about, admiring how the first light was affecting the landscape.  'Twas a lovely sight.

            My eyes abruptly came to rest on two black figures – one tall with a pointy hat, and the other of average hobbit height.  I lifted an eyebrow and cocked my head to the side in curiosity.  The two figures faced each other, speaking, while the taller of the pair held the reins of a mighty large horse.

            The hat-wielding of the two nodded, and then the hobbit began walking in my direction.  A panic overtook me.  Should I hide?  Was I in danger?  I thought maybe to run, but my feet did not yield to my command.  I stood, frozen.

            As the hobbit got closer, his features became clearer.  With time, I could see the green cloak about his shoulders, the burgundy shirt and pants, and finally, his face…  'Twas Mr. Frodo.

            I sighed with relief, and I could feel my body once more.  Upon getting over my relief, however, I lifted an eyebrow.  What was going on?

            "Sam," he hissed, "what are you *doing* out here?  There is evil afoot, my lad!"

            I frowned.  "Gee, I'm sorry…  I was just off to do some gardenin' at Bag End."

            "…Before dawn?"

            "Why, yes," I said rather matter-of-factly.  "As me Gaffer always said, 'The early bird catches the…'"

            His hands set upon his hips, he chuckled.  Placing a hand on my shoulder, he said, "Why, I should've known you'd be up to something of this sort…"  He smiled, putting his other hand into his coat pocket, and withdrawing an envelope.  His eyebrows lowered solemnly, and he held up the envelope before my eyes.

            "I need you to give this to the Gaffer, Sam," he said, placing it into my hand.  "It is Bag End's property title."

            "'Property title'?" I repeated.  What was that?  He smiled gently, but the grievous look in his eyes frightened me.  Why did he look so sad?

            "It is a document that says that the Gaffer is going to take care of Bag End for me while I'm gone."

            "GONE?" I practically shouted.  A panic expression filled his face, and he indicated with his hand that I lower my voice.  My voice still rather loud, I asked, "Where are you going to, Mr. Frodo?  And why so suddenly?"

            "I…I have business elsewhere, Sam.  Now, please, lower your voice!"

            "Tell me!"  Tears began filling my eyes.  Why was he leaving me?  What had I done to make him do this?

            He sighed, frowning mournfully.  His blue eyes glimmered sadly in the forthcoming rays of dawn.  "Oh, Sam…I can't.  Maybe someday you'll learn why, but believe me when I say it is none of your doing."  I looked up at him, trying to sort everything out.

            He had known my thoughts…

            "When are ya leavin'…?" I whispered, my throat constricting with the sadness that welled without my heart.

            He paused.  "Now, my lad…  I have to leave now."

            I lowered my eyes, and nodded.  There was nothing I could do.

            I felt him kiss my forehead lightly, and I heard him say, "Goodbye, dear Sam…" I slowly looked up once more.  His back was turned to me, and he was walking towards the other dark figure again.  Before he disappeared into the darkness that still remained in the West, I called out, "Will ya ever come back?"

            He did not answer.

*           *           *

As I gaze down at that wooden box, I know that he didn't go in Mordor, then return in his lifeless body.  He left me to go to Heaven, or whatever else the place where souls journ to when they're through with this life.

            Tears fell from my eyes, wetting my best clothes.  Reassuring hands patted my back, the other attendants of the funeral giving me their sympathies and condolences.

            I only nodded absently.

I am helpless to change the past

I am helpless in bringing you back

I am helpless to see again your smiling face

But, at least, that time will not be my last

Your body hath been lowered into the ground

My heart aches now, and council is given to me

Me Gaffer's advice is sound

"Do not fear,

Dear Sam, for the ones we love will remain

Ever near."

I know this is true, but there is no

Denying my heart's pain

My tears doth sting my eyes

Oh, Mr. Frodo, how I miss thee so

I am helpless to change the past

I am helpless in bringing you back

I am helpless to see again your smiling face

But, at least, that time will not be my last


End file.
